To Walk Into The Setting Sun
by Tristifico
Summary: When you've never lost before, falling is so much harder, but there will always be people to help you pick up the pieces. SanaYuki, Rikkaicentric fic. Spoilers for recent manga events.
1. Loss

A few housekeeping matters. Firstly, a warning for spoilers of recent events in manga. Secondly, you have no idea how much I'd like to own the Prince of Tennis boys. Thirdly, please review!

The rest is what my brain has cooked up and speculated about, so do enjoy. Oh, and tell me if I should leave it as it is, or extend this, thanks!

* * *

**To Walk Into The Setting Sun**

Someone had once said that success was like doing gymnastics. Doing a few simple stunts -maybe a cartwheel or two- was simple, and if you fell, you simply got a few bruises, to your knees and to your ego.

To successfully attempt something more difficult, however, would give you admiration that a cartwheel definitely could not bring. And if you were, say, disabled or blind, the respect you'd get could only increase exponentially. The downside was, falls tended to be nasty at best, and downright shattering at worst.

Yukimura Seiichi had known this idea for a long time, and while this inelegant metaphor could not possibly compare to the pride and honour he accorded this principle, it was nonetheless the same thing. He was tennis, and tennis was him; because of this simple fact, he always won the games he played. It was impossible to beat anyone who epitomized tennis as much as him, and his opponents, still dizzy from the spin of the ball that had just swept past them, acknowledged as much.

What Yukimura did not like to think of, however, was the prospect of losing. He was not an overly humble person, nor was he arrogant; his self-confidence was able to allow him to evaluate his abilities objectively. Yukimura knew that he was the best tennis player –as of now. The realist in him knew that there would always be the chance of someone overtaking him, that he might one day have to give up his place at the apex and take a second-place position.

* * *

He did not expect that the day would come so soon. 

"It looks like your jacket fell from your shoulders," that little brat had said.

Yukimura hadn't thought much of it then, and he still did not think that that little incident was of any importance. He was still recovering from his surgery, and the jacket was useful when there was a breeze- but if it had fallen off while playing, so be it. There was nothing special to it.

Perhaps, he thought, a poet might have called it a symbolic act.

The jacket had fallen, and so had the person wearing it.

The game had gone well for most part, and he was leading 4-1. Echizen, the cocky rookie with the insolent attitude and irritating smirk, was sweating hard. Yukimura glanced at him as they changed court, and was oddly satisfied that Echizen could be put in his place. To Yukimura, there was pride and dignity in being good at tennis, and there was outright arrogance at having a few flashy moves.

Yukimura decided to irk Echizen a little more- it was exhilarating, playing after so many months of hospitalization and bedrest- and adopted a more aggressive play. That was one of his strongest points, that he did not have to depend on baseline moves or acrobatic flips to play tennis. Yukimura simply took anything that allowed him to hit that yellow ball across the net. If a cord ball was needed, he learnt it; if being ambidextrous was an advantage, he trained for it.

Minutes later, Echizen looked like he'd been playing against a video-game and Wii-deprived Kirihara, and he hadn't gotten a single point before the referee declared, "Game to Yukimura, 5-1!"

Then Tezuka took Echizen aside and told him something, gravely, and Echizen lost his smirk. What took its place was something more subtle, something harder to read. But Yukimura did not have time to consider it as Echizen suddenly _played_- his moves became swifter, harder; and as he gained momentum his eyes changed too. They were far-off and distant, but they missed nothing.

By the time the score was 7-5, with the match to Echizen Ryoma of Seigaku, Yukimura was kneeling in the dust.

* * *

Rikkai refused the silver medals, of course, and left early. They respected their captain with a fierce loyalty, and his humiliation was theirs too. Being at the courts had not allowed that particular feeling to sink in deeply, but it nagged at all their consciences, and was reflected by the fact that even Niou was silent, and Marui did not eat anything. 

Sanada bowed to the coaches, and then once to Tezuka, and brought up the rear of the Rikkai team as they boarded the bus that was bring them back to school.

The ride back was oppressively quiet, but no one cared, as they all stared out of the window, looked at the floor, or closed their eyes to avoid thinking too much. The anesthesia from shock was slipping away, and the emptiness of a lost championship gnawed at everyone.

Once back in school, the team looked to Yukimura for any sort of speech, any honest words of cold comfort, but when they saw that their captain was silent and far-away, they were mature enough to slip away quietly. Only Sanada remained, and stepped to Yukimura's right side as they began the automatic walk to the bus stop.

Usually, it was Yukimura who talked, and Sanada who contributed all the ohs and hmms, but it showed how much Sanada was affected that he spoke first.

"Seiichi, we-"

He had even forgone with the surname.

Yukimura's knees suddenly couldn't support him any longer- they had been stiff and unyielding after the lost match- and he collapsed heavily on the side of the pavement. Sanada crouched instantly, his worried face visible on the edge of Yukimura's vision.

"Seiichi, are you okay- do you need me to bring you to-"

"Not the hospital, Genichirou. I never want to go there again."

Sanada seemed relieved that he was well enough to speak, and settled besides Yukimura's sprawled figure. Yukimura started to talk, because it was easier than sitting there and thinking.

"We must look like madmen, sitting like this at the edge of the pavement like this, imagine if the owner of the house came out and saw us against his fence..."

Sanada didn't dignify that with a reply. It was not like Yukimura to senselessly chatter, and he merely looked at his captain.

The other boy refused to meet his gaze. "Thankfully the owner doesn't have a dog, otherwise we'd be barked at incessantly-"

"Yukimura."

The word reminded Yukimura of everything he had stood for- Rikkai's famed buchou, the "Child of God", even- and he broke.

There were drops of salty tears sliding down his face, but he didn't care, and he didn't give a flying _fuck_ about who saw him or where he was. He only knew that he had lost, and to a boy two whole years younger than him. Yukimura tried to blame it on the fact that he just had surgery not long ago, that he was hospitalized and couldn't practice, but the despair was still there. He had still lost, and nothing would change that.

Then there was a strong pair of arms around him, still slightly sticky from the balmy heat of the courts, and a voice that soothed him quietly. Yukimura stiffened from the shock of Sanada doing such a thing, as he knew it was totally out of Sanada's character-

But things were equally out of plan today, and Yukimura let the tears fall until his eyes hurt and his voice was hoarse.

* * *

Yukimura's jacket dropping strip tennis. :D And if you think that's it, I've decided to extend this, so it definitely gets better in the next chapter.

REVIEW!


	2. Acceptance

Disclaimer: Can I have PoT for Christmas, please?

A second figment of my imagination. Review, please, and tell me how you'd like this to end, or how I can improve, etc.

**

* * *

To Walk Into The Setting Sun**

No matter whom one is, one is very likely to cry at least a few times in one's life. And crying, as almost everyone will know, is both physically and mentally exhausting. Add a strenuous game of brutal tennis to this, and it was no wonder that Yukimura practically had to be half-carried to Sanada's house. It would have been easier for them to take the bus, but Sanada lived only two bus stops away from school, and in this case stumbling along was simpler than boarding the bus. Sanada had made the decision for them, since his house was nearer- the other boy's house was further off by a good number of bus stops.

Yukimura knew, with an inward grimace, that the moment he sat down, his body would not allow him to move again for quite some time. He hated such weakness, and he hated that Sanada refused to stop supporting him.

There was a proverb, wasn't there-

_The spirit is strong but the body is weak._

His spirit had never faltered, except for the moment ago when he had lost control of itself- but like the Hydra in Greek mythology, it didn't take long for a new and stronger resolve to start reasserting itself. Yukimura's body, however, was a different matter: it had its limits, and after the long illness…

* * *

They took off their shoes at the entrance, and a clear "Tadaima!" from his vice-captain broke the otherwise serene atmosphere of the Sanadas' home. Sanada's mother, a strict-faced and neatly dressed woman, came out to welcome them. She opened her mouth to speak, then caught sight of both boys' faces, and sighed. 

"Yukimura-kun, feel free to stay over if you want –you can use the usual futon, it's in the storeroom- I'll call your parents. And clean yourselves up, I'll bring something for you two to drink afterwards."

Yukimura was reminded just how much he had taken an instant liking to Sanada's mother, who was a slightly gentler version of the solid and dependable Sanada. He bowed, more deeply than the curt one he gave other adults, and Sanada brought him to his room.

Being the leader of the Troika, and being one of Sanada's best friends, Yukimura had naturally seen the inside of his personal room many times. The clean lines and simple décor, however, never failed to appeal to him. In accordance with Japanese decoration, it was sparsely furnished, with only the essentials, but the view overlooking the small garden more than made up for it.

There was something new, though: besides the neat pile on Sanada's desk that was his homework was a small potted bonsai. Yukimura wandered over to it, directed purely by surprise, because Sanada changing anything in his room was something of a rarity.

He touched the dark green leaves of the little potted plant, and saw that it had been cared for well. There was something more than the usual kind of care, though. The plant looked like its owner had given it something more than water and a good place.

"Genichirou, this plant…"

Yukimura hadn't expected the normally expressionless face of his vice-captain to colour. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked that question, then. But before he could apologize, or change the subject, Sanada cut in. Another unusual thing.

"I'll tell you the truth, then, Seiichi," A deep breath, then the hard intensity of Sanada's dark gaze was directed entirely at him. Yukimura held his breath, unconsciously. "This plant was meant to be your gift for Nationals." Winning the championship went unsaid, but it echoed in the room. "A sort of farewell present too, I guess."

What a gift. Yukimura wasn't sure how he should react, if he should laugh hysterically or start crying all over again. But he was sure that crying once in front of Genichirou earned him comfort, while twice only got him a reputation as a crybaby. So he blinked fiercely, and was relieved that his voice didn't seem to waver.

"I don't deserve the plant now, Genichirou," A sweepingly dismissive gesture of his hand, then a carefully-careless shrug of his shoulders. "I lost, didn't I, and when the team depended on me-"

_I failed them._

Realizing that was nothing but hurt all over again. It was as if someone had roughly pulled out the knife embedded in him and stabbed it back, exactly in the same place.

* * *

Sanada let Yukimura use the shower first, unfailingly polite, and let him pick out clothes from his own wardrobe. There was no embarrassment at this, since they had both decided on spur-of-the-moment sleepovers in each other's houses before. But while Yukimura could slip into Sanada's larger clothing easily, Sanada was exceedingly uncomfortable with skin-tight shirts, and so somehow always had a spare outfit with him. 

Dinner was quiet, too, and peaceful compared to the turmoil of the day. They were both tired out, and went to bed early. Yukimura closed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge that his body ached, but he could not sleep.

He spent a while trying to even out his breathing, or at least pretend to Sanada that he was sleeping, but gave it up. The next few hours were spent tossing fitfully, clutching at cloth, until Yukimura lost track of time. Judging from Sanada's even breathing, though, he was sound asleep, and the house was silent enough that it was probably 2am or so.

* * *

He got up silently, and slipped open the sliding doors to the garden. For Yukimura, clad only in a thin, baggy shirt and slacks, it was bitingly chilly, although the day had been warm for autumn. He settled himself on a small stone bench, and looked at the moon and stars. They twinkled peacefully back at him, so Yukimura allowed himself to relax a little more and soak in the calm acceptance of the stars. 

He would have to face the world, still, and that could not be changed; but being in this little garden where time seemed to have stopped was healing him, little bit by little bit. Yukimura gazed wordlessly at the pebble pattern on the ground, tracing it with a bare foot, but a cold flicker of the loss still lingered at the edge of his memory, and it irritated him to no end that such a thought could exist even here.

A shadow fell over him, and Yukimura looked up.

"You're awake?"

"Never slept," Sanada told him, and Yukimura couldn't resist a quirk of his lips that Sanada was that good at faking sleep.

He swept his longish hair behind his shoulders and moved over on the bench, letting Sanada settle down beside him. It was suddenly warmer, and Yukimura slid a little closer to the heat of Sanada's body. Sanada sucked in a breath when Yukimura's hand accidentally brushed his.

"Seiichi, your hands are freezing! Ah, here,"

And before Yukimura could protest, a solid mass of cloth was draped over him, and then he found he didn't want to protest after all. Sanada's jacket was far too comfortable.

They sat in silence for a little while longer, and Yukimura found the resolve within him to settle things. It was like having pins and needles, he reasoned, it was painful to move the affected part, but leaving it would only worsen the problem. It was tiring being so emotional, even if it had only been half a day, and he'd spill all. Talk, scream, cry- it'd be good to have everything done with. So Yukimura bit his lip, then turned to Sanada.

"I want to… trash things out, Sanada. Let me rant. You don't have to say anything."

Sanada nodded, mutely, though a slightly raised eyebrow showed his surprise.

Yukimura started, and found he couldn't stop. "Why did I lose, Sanada, and to a stupid little Echizen? I could beat anyone else, even Tezuka, Atobe… and I lost to a freshman? It isn't fair, isn't, and right after I was in hospital…"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and continued after a few false starts. "I'm not as strong as everyone thinks I am, Genichirou. I cried in the hospital, when it was dark and when nobody was there. I despaired before the operation, and- you don't know how much I feared losing."

This was awkward, this was absolutely not eloquent, and his voice was still shaky. But it was good to say everything out, and saying it to only his closest friend made it easier.

This thought made Yukimura emit a short laugh, then he said, "You know, when I started playing, no one could believe that I'd go this far." Yukimura let his hand slide over his jaw. "Everyone thought I was too delicate, too small, too _girly_. I proved them wrong, and yet now…"Self-pity wasn't something he indulged in, so he told only the truth.

"I've fallen from my pedestal, Genichirou."

Yukimura, by then, had given up on whatever grief he had. What was left was anger that he couldn't direct _anywhere (_unless Sanada didn't mind his garden being wrecked), so he reached out instinctively, and hooked his arms around Sanada's neck.

Everything else proceeded in a blur of dark hair and closed eyes, though Yukimura could feel that Sanada was unyielding in shock, and so he did the only thing that was possible now. He brushed his lips against the larger boy's mouth. That action startled Sanada from his daze, and convinced him enough to hesitantly kiss back. It was slightly awkward, with Seiichi's hair having to be tucked back by Genichirou and Seiichi having to incline his head while shifting to accomodate the height difference, but they were _kissing_.

Yukimura understood a little of why lovers had done crazy things over the ages, why Juliet had been foolish enough to think it was romantic to kill herself for Romeo- while this was not so dramatic, but they were kissing, in the garden of Sanada's house, where it was wrong and anyone could see them.

But for now, neither of them could care.

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Review, or angry!Yukimura v1.2 is coming after you :) 


	3. Moving On

Disclaimer: Once again, the only thing I own is my imagination.

Third part, and after this is an epilogue-ish bit, since I happen to love happy endings (fluff optional), and also because I think it'll round this thing off nicely.

Well, at the almost-end of this fic, I'll just like to say that it's my first PoT fanfiction, so forgive any mistakes. And um tell me if anyone's OOC, or a little too emo/weepy.

Edit: I'm really sorry if this seems like I'm begging for reviews or anything like that, but I really wish that more of you would just drop me a few words. Writing is something that I have to set aside extra time and effort for, and I really would appreciate it if I saw more constructive criticism.

**

* * *

To Walk Into The Setting Sun**

There was absolutely nothing they had to say to each other as they somehow made their way back to their respective futons; everything that had to be expressed was already done with in the garden. And while both of them did have the thought of "What if their kissing had gone further?", and had tensed in anticipation, they were ultimately glad that it stopped where it did.

After all, they were still teenage boys, and with that came an ever-present desire to explore, but they understood each other well enough to know that they had time to wait. Of course, the sound of someone else using the toilet was a good incentive, too.

Yukimura slid under the blanket, and immediately felt as if his bones had dissolved into the mattress, because he had used up all the pent-up energy he had within him. Now he simply felt tired, and closed his eyes.

Just before he fell asleep, he heard Sanada's steady breathing, _in-out-in-out_, and he had a feeling that Sanada was not faking sleep this time.

The next morning was a Saturday one, and it was with relief that they realized there was no school, because facing your mistakes with friends was one thing, and meeting the entire student population was another.

* * *

They were folding away their futons when Sanada's mother came in, and held out a phone. 

"Yukimura-kun, it's your mother,"

He took it, and no one missed how his knuckles were white around the phone, though Sanada's mum simply helped her son to move the futons into a cupboard.

"Seiichi."

She would undoubtedly have heard the news by now, or Sanada's mum had probably told her last night already, but the tone of her voice was something that Yukimura disliked hearing. It was level and calm, but disappointment lurked behind it, and an explanation was demanded in the short silence.

No wonder relatives had always commented Seiichi took after his mother, and a particularly old uncle had remarked, "And probably more than just in terms of looks, no?" They shared an honest, if brutal determination to do well, and to be the best, and so Yukimura had always wondered why his mother chose to be a simple housewife.

"I'm sorry, mother."

"Did you do your best?"

There was no way that Yukimura would lie to this question; it was not in him to do so. So he reflected for a moment, and answered, "No."

"Then do what you need to, Seiichi. I'll expect you home by Sunday evening." With that rather cryptic statement, his mother hung up, leaving her son to look at the phone with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

* * *

A short consultation with Sanada, and they had come to a unanimous agreement: the captain and vice-captain had come to terms with the loss of the gold medal, and it was time to help their team do so. Rikkai's work ethics was simple, and was the reason behind the team's utter (if often hidden) loyalty to their leaders. They strove to win, and did so most of the time; but if they lost, there was no blaming involved. Those who did not perform up to expectations were reprimanded or punished, but Yukimura and Sanada did not spare themselves either. Then everyone was critically evaluated, and told how they could improve, and they dealt with it as a team. That was how they had managed to remain at the top for so long. 

They called up the entire team, and arranged to meet at a nearby park; and before he even dialed the first number, Yukimura was certain that everyone would be at home and awake.

He was not wrong.

They were all cramped together on benches, except Kirihara who didn't mind the grass, and Niou, who was leaning against a large tree. A dirty look from Sanada made him stub out his barely-smoked cigarette reluctantly, and Yukimura shot him a thank-you glance and then surveyed his team.

With a sinking feeling he hadn't felt before, he realized that none of them had slept well, only that it showed in some more than others. Kirihara's eyes were still slightly red, and Yukimura wondered if the baby of the team had decided that smashing balls was more important and sleep could go to hell.

Ah, well, they had their own ways of anger management.

Even Yanagi had shadows under his eyes, and behind Yagyuu's glasses was probably the same thing, though both showed no sign of weariness in their movements. The others were obviously tired, too, because for once Sanada didn't have to threaten laps or shout.

Yukimura decided not to mince words.

"We lost, this year, in the Nationals." Obvious enough, and so direct that a few of them fidgeted a little. "For doubles, Kirihara-Yanagi got us a 5-1, and Kuwahara-Marui lost with 5-7. Singles 3, Sanada, won with 7-5, Niou lost 5-7, and-" He felt his body stiffen a little, but ploughed forward, "-and I lost with a 5-7."

It was gutting to throw all their scores, be it a win or loss, right in their faces, but Yukimura felt that it was a necessary reminder. Now none of them would meet his gaze, and Kirihara was already starting to pull out patches of grass violently. He felt a sudden surge of irritation- this lackluster team was not the one that he had led all through this year! What had happened to their spirit?

"_Look at me_, all of you," Yukimura snapped, and let his voice sharpen with each continuous word until it rang in their ears. "We lost, yes, but we lost as a team. I will not hesitate to say that I am disappointed, but more in myself than any one of you. So-"

With a calculated turn, he faced Sanada beside him, and said, "I am the captain, and I lost. _I did not do my best._"

They all knew what was the usual punishment for a loss, and it was worse if the player admitted that he hadn't put in every inch of his effort and more. Yukimura was aware that his entire team was staring at him in horror and shock, and Akaya sprang to his feet. He was stopped with a raised hand.

Yet Sanada hesitated, and swallowed, but Yukimura fixed a steady stare at his vice-captain. Sanada had never rebelled against him, and he would not let this fact of life change.

"Now."

It was gratifying, to say the least, to feel a heavy backhand against his cheek as he stumbled back with the force. It smarted with pain, and there was definitely going to be bruising later on, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the lightness he felt at somehow paying off a debt.

"Once more."

A pause, again, and this time Yukimura did not wait. He raised his own palm, and dealt himself a sharp slap on the same side. Ignoring the stinging,Yukimura's will had hardened to the point where he did not wince. He merely cupped his cheek with a hand, and turned to face his team, when Kirihara was bursting with a, "Why? 'Mura-buchou, why?"

"Once for failing the team. The second time… that was for failing myself." He sighed, and told the team gravely, "I will not mete out punishment for the rest of you. You played a noble enough game, and your forms have improved, even though some of you lost."

"This is our last time as a team, probably, and it has come to the point where others cannot judge you. Look at yourself, and see if you were happy with yourself then."

An echoing strike behind him was startling, and he spun round to see Genichirou's hand still against the side of his face, and then Sanada was on his knees.

"You-"

There was no time for further words, though, as one by one they each struck themselves, even those who had won and those who had lost. It was not something inspired by Sanada, Yukimura knew, because none of them were that stupid; they had all judged themselves as not-good-enough, and Sanada had simply led them once again.

It would be an over-dramatic, ridiculous action when they thought of it later, but as they were half-kneeling and huddled together on the ground in the middle of a park, it was comforting to know that they were a team, and would always be one.

* * *

Review. Since I was so hardworking on Christmas, I deserve a review, don't I? 


	4. Stepping Higher

Something a little longer to round things up! Enjoy this, please, and leave a review. No need to comment much, it's really just motivation to continue writing.

You'll finally see the inspiration for the title of this piece :)

And a mountain of gratitude to those who have read and reviewed, and who have practically written mini-essays for me, because you give me all the support needed to go on.

30/12/07 EDIT: I have no idea how to describe this edit that's after Yukimura reaches Perfection. It's technically minor, and yet to me and to the characters emotionally it is a really, really, major one. More details on the next 'chapter'.

* * *

**To Walk Into The Setting Sun**

The team spent some of the afternoon talking, reflecting; anything that helped would do. Since Marui was with them, they naturally ended up at an ice cream parlour. It was only after the third round of ice cream when Yukimura said, "All right, I'm really full," and stood that the team dispersed, and once again only Sanada was left with him.

The walk back was quiet, because Yukimura had something on his mind as he flipped open his cell phone to read 2:48 and Sanada was his usual self. When they were back at Sanada's house, the first thing Yukimura did was to head over to their tennis bags and hoist them up, smiling as he did so.

"Seiichi, I thought you were tired-"

"Never for tennis, Genichirou. Besides, _you lazy ass_, we need to work off the ice cream." Though his words were light, Sanada saw the hard glint in Yukimura's eyes, and accepted his bag without further questioning.

* * *

They knew of a rarely-used tennis court quite near Sanada's house, and while it was rather old, it could still serve its purpose. Unlike –_Hyotei's Atobe,_ Sanada thought wryly, there was no need to practice in front of an entire crowd of spectators, since they played tennis only for themselves and for winning. 

Warming up was rushed, and though thorough, quickly finished with. Neither of them wanted to waste time doing anything else other than playing, and within fifteen minutes, they were facing each other across the net.

Sanada balanced his racket on the ground.

"Smooth or rough?"

"_Rough,_" Yukimura replied, with an edge to his voice that made Sanada's hand tremble for a moment, because he had never seen Yukimura behave like this before and it was _dangerous_. Yukimura was a very serious player, yes; but never before had he walked with pride in every step and nothing but naked determination in his eyes.

The racket spun, and landed.

Still across the net, Yukimura smiled at Sanada, a smile with lips drawn back and teeth shown, and barely waited for Sanada to assume position before letting the first ball brush past his head.

15-0.

Sanada was still tingling from the way the ball had swept across his hair, almost like a lover's caress, and realized belatedly that he was glad it hadn't hit him. It seemed like a gentle enough serve, all right, but a hit with it would probably disable him for a week.

"Sanada! Concentrate, I don't want to just keep on serving!"

It startled him from his half-daze. Disgusted at himself for drifting off, Sanada shook his hair out from his face, gripped his racket so tightly until his fingers were nearly numb, and prepared himself for the next serve.

* * *

The next few rounds all went to Yukimura, since Sanada looked so spaced out and distant that Yukimura doubted he was concentrating on the game at all. His patience was running out, even if it was Genichirou, and when Sanada missed a ball that should have been easy enough for some idiot to get, he'd had enough. 

He served, and made sure that the ball hit Sanada straight in the face.

"What is this, Sanada? You're not playing tennis," Yukimura was angry, now, and impulsively added an insult by causally checking his fingernails. "I have no idea what the _fuck _you're thinking about, but you're wasting both our time!"

Sanada looked embarrassed, and apologized deeply; afterwards, he threw himself into giving his all. But to Yukimura, that "all" wasn't enough- there was something still lacking, some little facet that they hadn't gotten to yet, _something _was missing.

And so he continued taunting Sanada.

"Terrible form! Even a freshman's better, Sanada!"

"You can't reach it in time? What do you mean, you can't smash it back?"

"Perhaps I should have made Akaya my vice-captain instead, hmm?"

Every human has his breaking point, and Sanada wasn't an exception. Yukimura could practically see the stoic exterior crack, and for a moment Sanada looked like any other angry teenager, furious and animalistic as he roared, "Enough!"

Then he'd vaulted over the net, somehow, and caught the front of Yukimura's jersey in a bruising grip. "I don't know what you're playing at, Yukimura, but you're not playing tennis either, you're just using it to scream at me!"

Then he dropped the smaller boy onto the ground, and calmly walked over to the other side of the net. Yukimura, silenced, did not see how Sanada's face contorted for a moment when he moved away.

From the ground, Yukimura looked at Sanada, really looked, and something buried in him told him to let his world be the other boy for a second. That triggered everything, as even while Yukimura couldn't believe how ridiculous that _it_ was happening now, he felt his spirit soar, felt his aches and tiredness vanish, and somehow he was being washed over with a rush of heat-

He finally understood the spirit of it all, and so nothing else mattered.

Just before Yukimura gave himself completely over to the game, his last thought was that the most challenging game to ever play wasn't against an opponent with immense strength or perfect technique.

It was playing against someone you loved that was the hardest.

* * *

As Sanada went over and looked on, Yukimura picked himself up from the ground, dusty from the clay, but he didn't bother to notice the state of his clothes. He merely stood to receive the ball, but something was different about the way he was standing- wait- 

Sanada nearly dropped the ball, because Yukimura was _glowing_.

It was a quiet, flickering glow, somewhere deep in Yukimura, but as Sanada watched it grew and became stronger, until Yukimura was nearly blinding in a glow of white.

His eyes were different, too; it was no longer far-off and spaced out, but focused on nothing but the ball Sanada was holding, and the expression on his face was a heady mixture of awe and confidence and absolute faith in himself.

There was no shout from Yukimura to hurry up, or to stop gaping; and in that moment, Sanada realized two things: that Yukimura's world was nothing but the ball across the court and the racket in his hand, and that Yukimura would win, because there was no way anyone could play against flawlessness itself.

So this was it, the Pinnacle of Perfection, and Sanada felt a joyous swell within him that Yukimura –his Seiichi- had achieved it.

For a while, it was almost as if a mannikin was the one playing against Yukimura, because Sanada was inexplicably, utterly, unreasonably drawn to Yukimura's face, and at the same time he felt as if he was far away and was watching the being that was Yukimura glide across the courts, moving with only sharp grace and a deadly sort of elegance, and the tennis ball acted as if Yukimura had it controlled by strings. When Yukimura tapped it with his racket, it obligingly became a cord ball; and when Yukimura smashed it across, Sanada didn't even know it had passed before it had dropped to the ground behind him.

Sanada had just adapted to Yukimura's new development, when there was one more surprise in store of him: he was nearly mindlessly just trying his best to return balls when Yukimura suddenly stopped, and let the first ball in a long time bounce past him.

Sanada stared at Yukimura, because it was the only action his mind could tell him to do. He looked, and the glow around Yukimura suddenly dimmed, then faded away. Yukimura didn't seem to notice this change; he did not even blink, but simply took out a ball and served.

There were really no words to describe this. When Yukimura was in his state of perfection, his every movement was smooth and anticipated, but this was a totally different thing. It was something that belonged solely to Yukimura, for there was no use of other players' techniques, nor any flashy stunts; it seemed that Seiichi's only purpose was to hit the ball back across the net. When Sanada smacked a ball back, Yukimura was there, somehow; he'd not used any special moves, only simple volleys and serves, and yet he had never dazzled so much before.

This was Yukimura's courage and dedication, his simplicity and honesty, -even his pragmatism- shining through his tennis, and he gleamed with nothing but the passion and brillance of youth and life.

It was only to be expected, then, that Yukimura took the match, 6-4.

* * *

Sanada knew that the State of Self-Actualization caused a person to bonk out at the end of the match, and so he wasn't surprised when Yukimura crumpled into a heap after he'd gotten the last point. 

He decided to let Seiichi rest for a little, because the other's brows were still a little creased from the events thus far, and settled down besides the prone boy just to watch and wait.

He'd looked at Yukimura, and something unbidden stole into his mind, that he'd never ever catch Yukimura in such an unconscious state, because his captain was a light sleeper. So for once, encouraged and illuminated by the last hour of sun, he decided that responsibility could be thrown away for a while.

He bent over Yukimura, and stole a quiet, unknowing kiss.

* * *

When Yukimura finally woke up, he opened his eyes to find a half-dozing Sanada sprawled besides him, and he allowed himself a small smile to see the usually stiff young man so relaxed. Then he remembered how reaching the Pinnacle of Perfection had felt like, and his grin blossomed into an all-out one; it was wonderful to recall the sheer exuberance of how playing tennis in its rawest form was. 

"So how was it, in that state?"

Ah. Sanada was not asleep, again; Yukimura really had to work to his sleep-deducing skills.

"I can't describe it, Genichirou, it was- ah, nevermind. You'll reach it one day, won't you, so I don't have to explain it to you." Yukimura grew serious then. "But I'd never thought..."

"Thought what?"

"I'd never expected to reach it playing you, you know. I always imagined it to be some big, grand match at some finals, and I'd be playing against a pro, and everyone would be gasping in awe..."

Sanada turned around to give him one of the driest looks ever possible, and snorted, "Are you saying I'm not the best audience, then?" Yukimura raised an eyebrow, but let the taller boy continue. "A noble game, Seiichi, depends only on yourself." Sanada had by this time gone a fierce red, and had also decided that fixing his gaze on the sky was easier than looking at Yukimura.

There was silence for a while as both of them contemplated the future, then,"Did you lie, Seiichi?"

Yukimura cocked his head inquisitively, because that question had been out of the blue.

"About the not doing your best part earlier on, with the team," Sanada clarified, then went on a little uncomfortably, "Because I know you'd never slack off during a game."

He was graced with a brilliant, gleaming smile from the blue-haired boy, and caught his breath in wonder.

"I'll never think I did my best, Genichirou."

"Ahh," said Sanada, and a little twitch of his lips showed he understood completely. Yukimura's eyes turned playful, and reached out to twine their fingers together, one pale and long-fingered, the other stronger and callused.

They then got up to leave the tennis courts together, quietly shutting the doors as they went, and walked into the last rays of the setting sun.

_Hitori tatazumu jikan  
Touku shizumu yuuhi wo mitsumeteru  
Sugitekita kisetsu wa azayaka na omoide  
Eien ni kagayaki tsuzukeru_

(owari)

* * *

**(a little extra here with a sort-of spoiler for 40.5!)**

They were walking back when Sanada suddenly stopped, said, "Ah, wait a minute," and bent over to tie his shoelaces.

Yukimura took Sanada's bag out of courtesy, and yelped at the sudden weight on his arm. He hadn't realized just how heavy it was. Gingerly lifting it up, he estimated its weight to be about… 12kg? A bit more than that?

"Genichirou! What on earth do you keep inside that huge bag of yours?"

Without waiting for an answer, he yanked open the zip as Sanada hastily looked up.

"Wait, careful-!"

He had excellent reflexes, yes, but it wasn't good enough to stop the loose stone from falling with a dull thunk onto Yukimura's foot.

Sanada had never been so glad that his face hidden under his cap so that he could miss Yukimura's expression, but he heard the "OUCH!," distinctly, the "Ow," painfully, and the quiet "Fuck," clearest of all.

Later on, even in the safety of his own room, Sanada could only turn red and look sheepish as Yukimura prodded the foot (now smothered with an icebag) and glared at him.

* * *

Don't we all love the Sanada Family Stone? Now, REVIEW! 


	5. More Than A Word

_There is no need to read this if you read TWISS for the plot or for the romance, but if you read it to know Yukimura, then I strongly suggest you continue on._

**

* * *

More Than A Word**

All right, so this is almost an essay and definitely not a word, but I really have to write this. I've just finished Genius 372, the latest to have come out as of 30/12/2007, and I was touched by it. I think it's one of the most meaningful episodes.

As such, I've edited my last chapter quite a bit; the whole part after Perfection has been added in, and some things that greenteamoose kindly pointed out to me have been removed. The reason why I did that is somewhere below XD

Yukimura's legendary reputation and style of play has been built up over nearly the entire series (Rikkai was introduced a long way back!) and yet we have to wait until the almost-end of this beloved series to see him play. His play is exactly as I thought it'd be: though the character is still rather elusive because there's not much info on him, I think that Yukimura has always been, and will continue to be, one of the very best players in the PoT world.

To me, he's gotten to the very basic concept of tennis, and it really shows in his behavior during this chapter. Echizen's unleashed a ton of moves on him, and yet what we see Yukimura doing is –to put it very simply- hitting back. Nothing else. He'll probably show some of his own special techniques later, but even then I doubt that they'll be as showy as other players'. Tennis at its core is absurdly simple. Just hit the ball back legally and make sure that your opponent can't return it. That's what I think Yukimura feels towards tennis. Yukimura's at the top because he's curiously detached at the technical parts of tennis, but what makes him outstanding is that he has that magical factor of passion that mingles with everything and drives it all together.

There's a part where he tells Echizen that tennis isn't a game to make his jacket fall off his shoulders, and I didn't know whether to shake my head at the absurdity of it all or laugh. I mean, the jacket falling off is probably 'foreshadowing', but true to form Yukimura doesn't care about it at all-he just goes straight for what matters. And Echizen's reply, "Then this is a game to let me win!" (something along those lines) reveals that while in terms of talent he may be the best, he's still got a long long way to go when it comes to understanding. Tezuka and Nanjiroh -to a certain extent- have been trying to drill that into Echizen's head for the entire series now, but he still hasn't fully grasped it, whereas you can feel that Yukimura has already gone that extra step.

I hope that no reader ever interprets my feelings towards Yukimura as that of pity, since that would mean I've failed in my writing. There is nothing to pity about a person like that. All right, so I think that all of us harbour a secret desire to see Yukimura kick Echizen's ass (to quote some reviews), but he's one of those rare characters that I respect more for losing, because it's just a stepping stone for Yukimura. So what if we know he'll be defeated? He'll just regret a little, see where he went wrong, and he'll move on to higher things.

This series has always been about hoping for new opportunities, having pride in doing nothing but your best, and reaching past your limits. Yukimura is an embodiment of that.

His philosophy is that of simplicity. It is obvious through his brutally honest manner with his teammates, and his mentality of not mincing words. More so, he has an unstoppable urge to succeed, and that resonates with me. At the same time he's gentle, (and an art lover too!), but you just _know_ that mixed with that is an unforgivingly strong will. As someone his age, I know that it cannot; definitely cannot, be easy to face death and take a huge gamble for what must be a freakishly scary operation.

I won't say that this strength is "hidden behind" or anything, because Yukimura doesn't strike me as a character with multiple personalites. He simply is quietly pleasant, and also forcefully ambitious – and we love him for that. I believe that he's got the potential to go beyond perfection. I've no words to describe that stage, but he's close to knowing the spirit of tennis and sportmanship itself

I'll end this rant off with his motto, taken from the 40.5 fanbook. In it, Yukimura's motto is crudely translated into this: You cannot know the warmth of spring without knowing the cold of winter.

That just about sums up Yukimura Seiichi –an almost-demure boy of fourteen with big, big dreams.

* * *

We know he'll achieve them, don't we? 

A review's mentioned that what Echizen said in 371 was a mistranslation. Well, I usually just read the English translations, but I'll see if I can get my hands on the Japanese version and read it for myself. Just a note here.

And yes, I know that doesn't allow special chapters for review replies, but this isn't anything like that at all XD Also excuse grammar errors/point them out in reviews, since I am absolutely exhausted when I'm writing this.


End file.
